On the Death of an Ex

While mining for my own answers, I stumbled into another grief

In December 2022, I had been keeping a cross-reference log of my life against the DSM Autism criteria. I’d been working on the ‘romance’ section of my life that I’d clean forgotten about. Read into that what you will.

Thinking of these partnerships-if I could even call them that-I remembered a dream I’d had of an ex that past summer.

I have some re-occurring characters in my slumbers but he was never one of them. I had returned to the house we shared 15 years prior. There was a new group of people who had renovated the building, convincing me to stay.

Laden with damask wallpaper, banisters and chandeliers, this refurbish had papered over the dump we’d lived in. Corridors led to spacious rooms instead of broken windows and rusted bathtubs. It was everything the first house wasn’t. I could certainly live here. And that’s when he appeared.

“You cant stay here,” he said, “You gotta go.”

I woke feeling odd. He was so real. The last time I’d seen him was 10 years ago. We caught up near his work. Leaning on a post, he asked if I was seeing anyone. No. Too busy with school. He was involved, I think. Or just out of something, maybe in something and not feeling it. I’d stopped smoking and he hadn’t. He kept chuckling at me through his puffs. Taking my hand in his, examining my tattoos. “I hope you don’t regret it later”.

“If you want to hold my hand, just say it.” I blurted. More laughter as he let go.

Back to this winters night in ‘22 I shuffled to the store, finally hungry after hours of thinking on all my relationships—a memory shot back to me:

“Anyone ever tell you you’re aloof?” He asked, amusedly.

Those words clanged in my brain. Shit. What else about me have I blanked on? I could find him now and ask how he saw that in me. Unless he’s dead.

I hurried my steps after this thought. Something about it felt urgent. Most likely I’m making it up. I do this. I fear the loss of people I never talk to anymore because there is always something I wish I could have said.

I would google him occasionally, just to make sure he was ok. There was something about him I deeply understood and I think that’s why we continued to orbit each other, though neither of us really felt that thing that makes girlfriends girlfriends and boyfriends boyfriends. It’s why I still held compassion for him even though our “relationship” -honestly?- was kinda bad.

Nah. Just another irrational fear of mine. Don’t be ridiculous. Type. Type. Search. And there it was on my screen.

His name.

His obituary.

I blinked, again and again before I started to yell and flail my arms. No. My flashing thought was right. He had died.

Almost 3 years ago.

I wish I knew how to reach his Dad who he talked about constantly. We had met once. Alone in a room together as we waited for my ex, he spoke

“I am glad you’re here for him”, elaborating no further.

I didn’t like that. Something about it chilled me. I realized then you can’t know people fully. This person I shared beers, blunts and my bed with had a whole life before me that occasionally surfaced, but in an edited version. Maybe what he’d already shared with me wasn’t even half the story.

Trying to absorb my google search, I remembered my dream. How real he felt. I had just gone on living as he slid into the mystery. That dream came on the precipice of choosing to pursue a psych assessment because my life was trash, enveloped daily by suicidal ideation. Autism was possibly the only thing that could explain, and hopefully, save me.

“You cant stay here”

I swear to God. In this dream, it was him. Knowledge of his death made me question if I really wanted to die or if I just needed the pain to stop. For so many, these are not separate questions and we are left with minimal answers.

I still catch myself not believing, Googling again in case I made a mistake in understanding. Because I sometimes see his mirage on the street until I blink. Again and again. No, right. He’s really gone.

I have held onto these drawings because posting on Instagram is no place for what I want to say. Or maybe I fall short of that anyway, shouting out on the internet as I grieve a loss that is at once distant and so, so close.

My friend, I hope you are at rest.